


Practice Makes Perfect

by InMyEyes2014



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMyEyes2014/pseuds/InMyEyes2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan can tell anyone anything, but she struggles with telling a pirate the three words that get stuck in her throat. Will Valentine's Day make it any easier or will she be practicing that sentence until next year?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So I ran into an old friend the other night and had a conversation about how she could not say the words, “I love you,” to her now husband for the first few weeks after he said them to her. I asked her how she got past that and she said that it took practice. So driving back that night, I had the idea for this story. It’s just a one shot. It’s a bit longer than I normally do, but I sort of like it.

If there was one thing about Storybrooke that Emma Swan liked, it was the lack of convention and tradition shared by its residents. They may have lived in this realm for more than 28 years, but they did not seem to celebrate the same holidays or practice those rituals that made her cringe. Valentine’s Day was one such tradition, as the people of Storybrooke kept rather low key about it. 

That was until Granny and the other restaurant proprietors saw it as a business opportunity. The flyers promoting romantic dinners for two at the diner started appearing on car windshields and telephone poles two weeks before the holiday. Emma had threatened to arrest the woman if she found one more pink flyer on her yellow bug. That afternoon there was no pink flyer, but a red one rested in its place.

Belle even got into the act, making displays in the library of her favorite love poems. Some of the dwarfs tried to out do each other by reading the poems aloud. That led to a drunken limerick contest that it took both Emma and David to break apart. 

Regina had even gotten into the spirit, offering lovelorn residents of Storybrooke spells and trinkets of magic to improve their love lives. Whether it was a spell for the libido or one to predict one’s true love, Regina and Tinkerbelle had set up shop the week before the holiday and sold out of their wares before the big event. 

Worst of all Emma began to see red hearts and cut outs of cupid adorning the windows of every store on the main road. Wedding dresses were on sale. Chocolate covered anything was the most popular choice at the confectioners and the baker had worked double time to bake what Emma thought were thousands of sugar cookie hearts. 

She had to admit that it was nice to be dating someone during the holiday, but when that someone was a 300-year-old pirate…She wasn’t sure that the holiday translated across that many differences. Holding back from him, she didn’t describe or explain the holiday. Neither did he ask. She may or may not have hinted about it being a special day, but he did not take that hint and usually changed the subject.  
On February 12 she mentioned that Henry was spending the night with Regina to which he said that was good. On the 13th she “accidentally” dropped a flyer for the dinner in front of him. He complained that it would be crowded when he came back to the bed and breakfast for sleep. On the 14th she didn’t bother at all except to call and see if he might want to do something. He didn’t answer. 

Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt from some bail company in Boston that had gone out of business, she was laying on her bed going over a list that she’d been preparing for a few weeks now. Her parents were having their own romantic dinner that they planned to cook together. She was about to refuse to go downstairs. Her eyes were on the ceiling tile above her bed when she heard what sounded like her mother squealing and her father growling. That was something she could live without. They were helping each other make dinner, a romantic gesture that she couldn’t quite deny made her a little envious. Despite her protests and insistence, they had said they hoped she would join them. It was nights like this that made her wish for more options in Storybrooke. 

“Emma!” her mother called. “Are you coming down? We have enough for you too!” The woman sounded cheerful and playful. Emma swore if she saw her mother’s clothes in disarray or her hair mussed that she would head straight for Archie’s and send them the bill for her therapy. 

She descended the stairs slowly, giving her parents time to adjust clothing, smooth cowlicks and stop whatever looks they were giving each other. Looking like a sullen teenager, she climbed onto a barstool and watched her mother carry four individual servings from the oven. Emma wrinkled her nose. Why were there four? 

“Mom?” she called out as her father lit candles and turned on the CD player with some jazz CD that Mary Margaret had owned for a while. “Why are their four plates?”

Mary Margaret may have blushed, but it was hard to tell in the dim light from the candles. “Are there?” he mother asked. “I guess I must have assumed…Oh my goodness. I almost forgot to finish boiling the pasta.” She hurriedly ran to the stove, humming along with the music her husband had selected.  
Emma picked up one of the baby carrots from the tray on the counter and perched herself on a barstool. “I was fine in my room,” she said, realizing that nobody was paying attention to her. “I could go back up there and do whatever…”

David swooped over and nuzzled his wife, making her giggle as she poured a bit of olive oil into the pot of water. Emma grimaced. This was what she didn’t need. It was bad enough that it was her parents, but watching any happy couple on Valentine’s Day was a nightmare. She did not have anyone to be sarcastic with about the holiday or even anyone to commiserate with as the hours grew late and the lack of flowers and presents became more noticeable. “Don’t you want to change?” she heard her father say before she realized he was talking to her.  
She looked down at the faded t-shirt and baggy sweat pants. “Not really,” she said. “No offense, but I’m not sure why I’m here.”

David released his wife’s waist and stared at her, his hands going to his hips. “Where exactly were you planning to go?” he asked pointedly. “I doubt you want to dine alone at Granny’s and the two other restaurants in town have been booked for a week now. You said yourself that you didn’t have a date tonight.”

Emma sighed, looking past her father at her little brother who sat in a bouncy chair and cooed adorably. “He’s my date,” she announced, pointing the next carrot in Neal’s direction. “My baby brother can be my date tonight. He doesn’t care what I’m wearing or if I’ve had a glass of wine too many. He’s just happy if I give him his bottle on time.” She smiled sweetly with a hidden fire in her eyes.

Mary Margaret wiped her hands on the towel she was using as an apron and cleared her throat. “I think we’re almost ready,” she said, inspecting the food she’d already set out. “Did you remember the wine, David?”

Emma rolled her eyes, thinking how horrible the idea of a romantic dinner with her parents was without adding wine to the mix. Should she hope for a second bottle so she could get really drunk and with any luck black out the memory of the event? David looked nervously from the door to his wife and back again. “I believe it’s on its way,” he said, passing his daughter the bread basket. “Put this one the table.”

Emma set it down in front of her. “You’re kidding, right?” she said with disdain. “I’m not happy about doing this at all. And now you want me to serve you guys. Unbelievable.”

David cracked a smile and took the basket back. “I thought you might want to participate since you are objecting to changing your clothes. This is a holiday you are more familiar with than the rest of us though. Is this what you would normally wear?”

“I would normally wear this, order pizza or Chinese, watch a stupid movie and go to sleep with the hopes that all evidence of this holiday will be erased by tomorrow,” Emma said. “I have never dated anyone over this holiday before so I don’t really know how I would handle the romance part of it, but I assure you that dinner with my parents was never one of the ideas I had.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I really need my own place.”

“Emma,” David said, a slight edge tinging his normally steady voice. “You keep saying you don’t want to be here. But you’ve done nothing to turn that around. You have a guy you’re dating. Why didn’t you ask him if he wanted to do something?”

She shoved another of the carrots in her mouth and mumbled her response. When he looked at her questioningly, not letting the topic go, she swallowed. “I called and he didn’t answer.”

Her mother snickered and David cleared his throat. “I see,” he said. “So now you’re here with us. You can go sulk in your room like a petulant child or you can enjoy this meal that we’ve cooked. This day is about love, is it not?”

Emma nodded her head, a blush rising on her cheeks.

“Very well then. You are our daughter and we love you. So we’ll celebrate that today too. Now,” He clapped his hands together, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

As he was placing the salad on the table, a loud knock reverberated on the door though her parents seemed to ignore it completely. She hopped down from the barstool just in time to answer the next pounding at the front door, her bare feet skidding on the floor as she ran to it. “Hook? Errrr…Killian,” she said, her brow furrowing at the man in front of her with an odd assortment of flowers in two bunches. “What are these for?”

He smiled at her, kissing her deftly on one cheek and moving past her into the room. “They are flowers, love,” he said as though she might not know how to identify them. “I thought they were customary.” 

Her finger reached out to touch the velvety petal of one of the roses. “And they are beautiful,” she said, “but what’s the occasion. We aren’t going on a date tonight. Are we?” She knew she had been busy at work, but such a thing would not have slipped her mind. 

“I was invited to dinner,” he said, nodding a hello to her parents who for some reason did not seem at all shocked by his presence. “I believe it is some holiday in this realm and thought it might be nice to share it with you and your family.”

Emma’s gaze switched between the two large bouquets of flowers, his toying grin, and her parents obvious attempts to remain oblivious to their daughter’s confusion. “Who exactly invited you?” she asked, turning the tables and raising her own eyebrow at him. 

“Why your parents, love,” he said, his grin never faltering. “Did they not tell you?”

“No,” she said, again crossing her arms over her chest. “They didn’t.”

He made tsking sound with his mouth and shook his head. “I suppose that would explain your attire,” he said. “Not that you don’t look beautiful in anything, but this does appear to be more on the casual side than I would assume is expected on this occasion.” His blue eyes scanned her form and though both her shirt and pants were oversized, she felt bare at that moment. He leaned forward a bit and in a whisper not to be overheard by her parents said, “Actually I quite like you like this. It reminds me of…”

“She is comfortable,” Mary Margaret said, approaching the couple with a smile. “That seems to be important to her this evening.” She stood back and examined the man before her daughter, her eyes resting on the flowers. “They are beautiful.”

“Milady,” He said, holding them out to Mary Margaret. “This bunch is for you. It is bad form to not pay tribute to such a lovely hostess.” He smiled coyly and then winked at Emma when she gasped. David barely held his laughter from the kitchen. 

“You brought my mother flowers?” she asked, her jaw dropping down in surprise. “Really?”

“I brought you some as well, love,” he said, gesturing to her with the remaining bouquet. “After all, you deserve something lovely today.” He continued his smile as though she did not roll her eyes as she took the gift. 

“Killian,” Mary Margaret said, ignoring her daughter’s surprise that she called him by his given name. “These are beautiful. You really outdid yourself. I should put them in water. Emma, would you like me to take care of yours while you say thank you.”

Her hand clumsily thrust the flowers at her mother as she mumbled her thank you. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “I’m going to go change.” She turned to the stairs only to hear him call her back.  
“I’m afraid your parents are concerned that the food will get cold during the wait,” he said. “You should stay comfortable in your attire.”

Over his hook Killian carried a green canvas bag with a bottle of wine sticking out of it. Obviously this was what David meant by the wine arriving. The two men were commenting on the year of the wine and David was gushing about Killian’s selection as Emma slowly entered the dining area and shook her head in disbelief. This was her Valentine’s Day dinner? Her parents and her boyfriend together while she sat there in sweats and a t-shirt. This was worse than a carton of ice cream and sappy rom-com movies. 

Ever the gentleman, Killian pulled Emma’s chair out for her, which made Mary Margaret practically swoon until David did the same for her. The men seemed to be on a choreographed mission to impress their ladies. One would offer his date a bite off his fork and the other would do the same. Each compliment was repeated. Each tender look mimicked. Emma seriously wondered if there was scorecard some place.  
David proposed a toast to his wife, waxing poetic about their adventurous but humble beginnings as Killian tried to top him with talk of Emma’s spirit and fight having made him a better man for the challenge of her love. Mary Margaret repeated her awe as David grimaced at the scene. Emma simply blushed and reminded herself that if she kept drinking maybe she could forget that all of this was happening. 

When Neal let out a pathetic cry just before dessert, Emma watched her parents disappear to their room to check on the infant. She turned quickly to Killian. “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, not missing the amused expression on his face.

“Love, you can’t really blame me,” he said, his eyes dancing back at her angry glare. “Your parents – the royal family – invited me to dine with them. I can’t refuse such an invitation, especially when it includes your company.” His words were playful, but she realized immediately that there was some truth to them. Her parents had become much more open about Killian’s presence in their daughter’s life, but they still held him to the perimeter of their lives. He was trusted to work with them, protect her, serve as a mentor to her son, and any other task that seemed to be needed. However, he wasn’t considered a part of the family or an invited guest into their private lives. 

“You could have told me,” she said, biting her lip as he let his eyes drop. “I’m glad you’re here, but I wasn’t expecting you. I wouldn’t be dressed like this,” she pointed to herself, “if I knew you were coming over.”

Killian smiled. “I wanted to surprise you,” he said, a bit of the cockiness gone from his voice. “You have been hinting that today was some sort of special day. I took it upon myself to learn about it rather than make you explain something else to me. I didn’t want to be a burden.” 

She relaxed a bit in her chair and smiled briefly in his direction. “You aren’t a burden,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand on the table. “You’re very smart about these things and learn very quickly. I kind of like teaching you about things in this world.” The blush that had appeared before was redder. 

“Perhaps you are enjoying my company then?” he asked, his fingers lifting up to tangle with hers. “Perhaps you are glad your parents invited me?”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “You could have at least told me.”

Dessert was served though each of the four at the table claimed they were way too full to eat it. Emma complimented both her parents’ cooking skills and smiled when Killian did the same much more emphatically and elegantly than she could ever hope to do. Her father pushed back from the table, his arms stretched wide and a yawn sounding incredibly loud in the tiny loft space. 

“After all that,” he said, grabbing his wife’s forearm as she began to gather the dishes. “I believe I need a nice walk. Don’t you?” His eyes grew wide as Mary Margaret looked shocked at the suggestion. Suddenly realization dawned on her and she dropped the plate back down on the table. 

“That sounds good,” she said nodding. Turning her face to Emma, she looked almost apologetic. “You don’t mind, cleaning up, do you?”

Emma didn’t remember answering, but she remembered the two of them scampering out the door with coats flying and what appeared to be a duffle bag over David’s shoulder. She did not have time to question them, but she honestly didn’t want to do so. 

She stood up slowly, feeling very much alone as her parents slammed the door behind themselves. Killian was watching her with a curious eye, but she did not meet his gaze. Instead, she gathered the dishes for washing and loaded the dishwasher the best she could. To his credit, Killian assisted her in the effort, rinsing plates and pans, drying a few of the more delicate items, and whatever she asked of him. Who knew that Captain Hook could take direction so well?

“I guess they’ll be back in a bit?” she said, still holding the dish towel in her hands. She looked to the bedroom. “They won’t leave him for long.”

Killian seemed to agree. “Perhaps you should check on the lad,” he said. “Your parents wouldn’t leave him alone for long.” His eyes followed her as she rushed from the room into the bedroom and back again, holding a piece of paper. 

Emma read the note aloud - “Gone to Granny’s for the night. Be back in the morning. Thanks for babysitting. Call if you need us. Mom and Dad.”

“They could have asked,” she mused. “Seriously though. I don’t want to think about what they are doing at Granny’s right now. They ran out of here like two teenagers.”

“Aye,” Killian observed, his hand going to that place behind his ear that he would scratch when the words were hard for him to find. “They did appear quite anxious.”

A nervous laugh left Emma’s mouth as she looked around the loft that now felt very empty. Even though they had dated for more than a few weeks, she was not used to having that much time alone with Killian outside the public view. The thought of that made her more nervous than she cared to admit. “I was planning to watch some Netflix,” she said with a little shrug. “Care to join me?”

He wasn’t the type to turn down her invitation, settling in next to her as she scrolled through the selections and asked his opinions on what type of movie they should watch. He did not even act too surprised when after starting the movie, she did not immediately move to the other end of the couch but rather nestled herself into his side and pulled his arm around her shoulder. “Comfy?” she asked as she lay her head on his chest and wound an arm over his stomach.

“Aye,” he managed to say, burying his nose into her hair to breathe in the scent of her raspberry shampoo.  
They stayed wrapped up together for the first part of the movie, their breathing becoming more synchronized and the sound of his heart echoing in her ear. She could have sworn she heard herself sigh contentedly, but since she’d never actually heard that sound come from her before she would have denied it. She lifted her head to look at him, wondering if he was enjoying the movie or even understanding it. 

His eyes were gazing back down at hers. “This is a nice way to spend the evening,” she admitted. “I might even be ready to forgive you for not telling me that you were coming over.”

“I knew my charm would work on you,” he teased. His lips from their way to her forehead and as quickly as she had sunk into their curled position, he was pulling her up and halfway into his lap as their mouths melded together in a combination of want and need that had her tingling. The kiss was desperate and soft at the same time, building and falling with passion. When a need for oxygen necessitated it, she backed her head away, her teeth reluctantly letting go of his bottom lip. 

“Killian,” she said between breaths. “I…”

A loud and angry cry from her brother interrupted the two of them, forcing her to push herself up and off her pirate with a frustrated grunt. “The kid and his timing,” she muttered as she walked away. Her brother’s angry fists waved and his face was contorted and red from the wails of displeasure as she lifted him up into her arms. “We need to talk about your timing,” she said as she looked him over for any obvious signs of distress. Deciding that it was hunger that probably had him calling out, she carried a quieter but still fussing Neal to the kitchen with her. 

“Is he well, love?” Killian asked, a bit confused and concerned at the boy’s outburst. 

“Just hungry,” she answered, “I think.”

Killian watched her balance her brother with one arm and prepare his bottle with her free hand. Her voice was soft and soothing to a point that he barely recognized it as her own, as it lacked the fire and sarcasm she usually announced. When she approached the couch again, her brother happily and greedily sucking on the bottle, Killian smiled at the expression on Emma’s face.

“What?” she asked. “What has you smiling like that?” She sat back down, though not cuddled with Killian, she was close enough that he could see the little prince and hear her sigh of relief that this bottle had settled him.

“You claim not to know what you’re doing, but you seem to be handling this well,” Killian said. “You’ve even translated the lad’s crying into determining the cause. I think you might even enjoy your role as an older sister?” 

Emma readjusted the baby in her arms, leaning back against the couch. “Some of the homes I lived in growing up had babies,” she said as if dismissing the idea. “So I picked up on a lot of those things. But it never lasted too long; babies get adopted pretty quickly. Anyway, there isn’t a long list of what might be causing a baby to cry. Hunger and needing to be changed are the first two you check out.” She regarded her brother carefully. “I also still have those false memories about Henry and raising him.”

“Emma,” he said cautiously. “You must…”

“I’m not the one who was crying,” she said with a forced laugh. “Anyway, my parents seem to have decided I’m on babysitting duty tonight. I’m sure that’s not what you had planned when you came over here tonight with your flowers and the wine.” 

“Aye, it’s not how I thought the evening would progress based on what I learned of the holiday,” he said, his hand automatically going to that position where he seemed to rub and scratch at his face thoughtfully. “But it is not all together unpleasant. I enjoy any time with you whether you are taking on monsters, eating with me, or caring for your brother. So long as I have your company and you aren’t too angry with me, I find myself enjoying our time.”

Emma lifted her smiling face to greet his. “We do more than those things,” she said. “I seem to remember we tend to kiss quite a bit when we have time alone.”

“We do seem to find ourselves doing that,” he agreed. “I should hope you don’t find that too unpleasant either.”

“I wouldn’t do it if I found it unpleasant,” she said, hoping that her face was not as flushed as it felt. She was a woman who for all intents and purposes did not have these conversations. Love or lust just happened. It did not need preambles and conversations about feelings. She was a sneak out of bed in the middle of the night rather than have that awkward talk in the morning where she would have to admit she didn’t even remember the guy’s name. She wasn’t the doodle her name with his on her notebook type. She had never owned a poster of a boy band and never created scrapbooks from magazines about what she wanted her life to look like in the future.  
“I’m going to regard that as a compliment, Swan,” he told her. “I know how difficult those are for you to give or receive.”

Emma wanted to say something back to him, but sensing the change in her brother, she realized she had to shift her attention. “You’re finished?” she asked him, wondering where her own voice had gone as she sounded remarkably like Mary Margaret. “That’s a good boy.” Her eyes darted around for a moment. “Killian,” she said hesitantly. “Do you mind? I forgot to bring one of his burp cloths in here. And while I’m not really wearing couture here, I don’t want to be covered in baby spit up either.”

He was on his feet immediately, but stopped short. “Where would I find such an item?” he asked.

Emma grinned at his eagerness. “There’s a changing table in the alcove. Second drawer on the right.” 

She knew that he was right about her. She was easily distracted by her responsibilities, something that enabled her to avoid anything that might play at her mind. She’d used that skill growing up, ignoring the pangs of guilt and abandonment that had plagued her. She’d used it in jail to forget that she would face the world alone after it was over. She’d used it to avoid the conversations of commitment and love with her parents, her son, and even Killian. She was doing it again now, focusing solely on her brother rather than the man who was there with her so willingly and happily. 

Finishing caring for her brother, she rocked him and even hummed a little song that she remembered from some place before lowering him back to his bed for sleep. Taking a deep breath, she walked back to the living room to where Killian still sat. He was not as relaxed looking as she normally saw him. His hand was playing again with that spot behind his ear and there was a tension in the room that had been only a flicker before.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting down beside him. “You seem upset?”

“Nothing,” he said, his eyes dropping. “I was thinking we might have a little chat about things.”  
Head tilted, she watched him nervously lift a glass of wine to his mouth. It seemed odd to see him drinking without his flask. “About what things?” she asked. 

“Us,” he said simply. “I suppose I am wondering about us.”

She pressed her fingers together and then spread them out again, watching the movements with a careful eye. “I’m not really good at those conversations,” she said as though admitting some big secret. “I’ve been known to take off when a guy asks me to define us.” 

“I could never see you doing that,” he laughed. “But you do have to admit that we don’t ever talk about this. We’ve been together, as you say, for weeks. I’ve been chasing after you for as long as I’ve known you. But when your parents called to invite me over, I couldn’t even answer their questions about what we are to each other.”

“They asked that?” 

“Aye,” Killian said, taking another sip. “I realize we are taking things a slower pace. I respect that and want you to be comfortable.”

“But you want to know what we are…” Emma finished for him, her voice trailing off in thought. “What would you like us to be?”

“If I said those words, you would run,” he responded. 

Standing up, she grabbed his glass and her own to take back to the kitchen and pour some more of the tangy red drink. “I think we both need the help of this to get through this conversation.” She placed them on the table and went back to place a plate from the table in the sink. 

She approached him carefully, her hands clenching and unclenching as she walked the few feet to stand in front of him. The smile he gave her was sweet and bright, but she could tell that it was a reflex and not a reaction to her. “Maybe we can get back to…” she said, trailing off. “I don’t think we’ll be interrupted for a while.”  
His hand was on her hip, gently guiding her down to him. Her knees sank into the couch cushions, one on either side of his legs and one hand caressed his cheek as the other held the back of the couch for balance. Her mouth found his easily, nipping at his lips and dragging out her motions so languidly that he seemed to tighten his grip on her, pulling her down for better access. Her hand trailed down, curving around the back of his neck and aiding in his desire to be closer to her. As she sank into her knees, no longer hovering over his lap, she moaned to which his lips twitched appreciatively. She moved her mouth from his, peppering his neck with open mouth kisses.

Without much thought, she was pulling at the buttons on his shirt, quickly divesting him of it as she continued her efforts on his neck. Each nip and kiss brought about reactions that seemed to echo in the room and her ears. He did not sit there passively under her energies, his own mouth fighting for access to her as they both explored and sought each other in the dim light. Reaching between them, she was fumbling with his belt, a neediness surging inside her. 

“Emma,” he said, his hand gripping her shoulder. “Emma…” His hand pushed her lightly, but it was enough to make them stop. 

She pulled back, a bit deflated by what she felt was a pending rejection. “I thought you liked this,” she almost purred. “I thought you enjoyed…”

“I do,” he said hurriedly. “I am…But Emma we are in your parents’ home with a sleeping infant just a few yards away from us. Are you sure?”

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily, leaning back against his handless arm that held her on his lap. “Really?” she asked. “I’ve asked you to be patient. I’ve pulled away from you so many times that I’m surprised you haven’t given up. And the first time I try to move this…us…to another level, you’re the one telling me to slow down? What have you done with Killian Jones? Because I don’t think that Killian Jones would be rejecting a woman throwing herself at him.”

His grip was tight around her and his face just inches away. “I am not rejecting you, love,” he said. “I’m merely confirming that you want this. For as much as I would love to ravish you right now, I don’t want you to feel obligated. I thought I should confirm before my wits are completely lost to you.”

She smirked, lifting one hand from him to brush back her hair. “I don’t think you’re coercing me,” she said. “Look at us. I’m on top of you and was the one who kissed you first.”

“So are you saying that it is my virtue in danger and not yours?” he asked playfully.

She giggled at his question, his eyes teasingly dark. “I like the sound of that,” she said. “Who would imagine me as the dangerous one in this relationship?” She brought her mouth to his again, kissing him sloppily as she worked to remove her own shirt. She broke off their kiss only long enough to let the material pass over her head. 

“Swan,” he said as she moved against him, creating a friction that she couldn’t resist. “Love, look at me.”  
She pulled her head back with a frustrated sigh. “I’m about to take this personally, Killian,” she said. “Is there a reason why you keep stopping me here?”

He rolled his head back, looking skyward for guidance. “Emma,” he said again, trying to find strength in her name. “Love, we don’t need to rush this. I would prefer there not be any regrets.”

Emma laughed loudly, causing the pirate to quirk an eyebrow in response. “You think I’m going to regret having sex with you?” she asked. “You’ve been not so subtly hinting at this since I met you. Now that I’m ready and willing, you’re pulling away. Are the stories and rumors of your abilities in the bedroom just that? Myths? Because I’m getting a little frustrated here.” Her arms were looped around him and her straddled position left no doubt that it was not a physical cause to his reluctance. 

His cheeks were flushed unevenly and his breathing a bit labored as he righted his head and met her eyes with his own. “You do this all the time,” he said. “You are an all or nothing woman. You want us to have sex as you put it because it means you can avoid the conversation about what we are to each other and what that means.”

She lifted her left leg and rolled to the right, crashing into the spot next to him and folding her arms over her bra covered chest. “You’re annoying when you think you’re right,” she said. “Fine. You want to talk. Let’s talk.” She was staring straight ahead at the blank screen on the television, the paused movie having gone to sleep a while back. “So what do you think of the weather we’ve been having?”

He chuckled at her frustration, which only served to annoy her more. “I suppose it might make it easier if I spoke about it first,” he said, reaching for his shirt that was draped over the arm of the sofa. “Would you prefer that?”

“I’d prefer you let me do this my way,” she said. But when she saw the wariness of his expression, she softened a little. “Fine. You go first.”

He cleared his throat like a boy about to give a speech at school. “I’m not sure what you can handle hearing,” he said shaking his head as though in a conversation with himself about the appropriate words. “I’ve never known anyone like you. You’re beautiful, smart, strong, humorous, loving, and did I mention beautiful?”  
She smiled into the air, the blush coming back to her cheeks. “Killian…”

“And though everyone in this town and probably across all the realms has told you that I love you, I’m going to confirm it here and now. I love you, Emma Swan. I may have denied it to myself and tried to believe I was only seeking your favor for some logistical purpose or some dalliance to satisfy my own urges, but that’s not true. I am in love with you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, the voice in her head screaming at her to kiss him. She wanted to acknowledge his words, tell him that she understood and felt the same. She wanted to melt into his embrace with the secure knowledge of her place in his life. But she did none of those things. She sat there with her eyes closed to his, knowing if he saw them that her resolve would disappear and so would any doubt he had about their relationship.

“I don’t really say those things,” she said. “Do you know what I want to say to you right now when you tell me you love me? I want to ask why would you. I want to shake you and tell you that I’m not worth it. I’m not worth the flowers, the sweet words, the time you spend on me. I’m not worth you making deals with Gold or having your heart ripped out to try to save me.”

“Emma, but you are…”

“No, listen to me. When you look at me like you do, it makes me wonder how you can see me like that. How can you see me as someone lovable and loving because that’s not what I see in the mirror?” She frowned, slowly opening her eyes. “But you do love me. And I’m getting better about that. And…well…I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing?” he asked, running his hand along his mouth and watching as she pulled her legs up on the couch and crossed them under her. In a similar move to Killian, she pulled on her t-shirt, her blonde hair messily covering her head and shoulders. 

“You want me to tell you how I feel about you,” she said very matter-of-factly. “I know that. And I want to say it too, but it is hard for me.”

“Emma, I don’t want you to feel pressure from me to say anything that…”

“No,” Emma said firmly. “I know you want to hear these things. I want to say them, but they just won’t come out of my mouth. I know. I’ve tried. I feel…anyway…I have been practicing by telling myself all the things I love. So when I‘m alone in my room, I start listing them.”

“Listing them?” he asked, his attention obviously piqued.

She took a deep breath and squared off her shoulders. “I love hot chocolate and cinnamon. I love Henry. I love my baby brother and my parents. I love rainy days where I don’t have to anyplace. I love pancakes at Granny’s.” 

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she smiled as his attention was captured. “I love the smell of the ocean. I love listening to really bad pop songs on the radio and singing along when nobody is around to tell me I got the lyrics wrong.”

“This is quite a list,” he said, chuckling at the formal way she was reciting it, as if from memory.

“I’m not done yet,” she said, taking another noisy breath in through her nose. “I love the feel of your jacket. I love when you smile at me. I love when you kiss me. I love when you whisper anything in my ear, even stupid things. I love the way you always sound so surprised when I call you.” She could tell that his expression was softening even more. “I love that you want to protect me. I love that you get excited to show me some of the new things you see and learn about this world. I love that you can make me forget the worst days or the vilest of monsters just with a single look or touch of your hand.”

He shifted his weight toward her, sitting crooked on the couch. With his fingers he tilted her chin so that she looked toward him. “You have put a lot of thought into this list, love,” he said softly. 

“I love your eyes,” she continued, her voice less confident now that she was looking at him. “I love…” Her voice caught and she closed her eyes. Shakily, she reopened her eyes and saw his concern shining through his eyes to her. “I love that you love me despite everything. I…” She broke off again.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything.” His arm rested on the back of the couch and his hand brushed her hair off her shoulder. “I don’t have to hear the words from you.”

She took another breath. “I love how you encourage me. I love that you believe in me. I love the way I can tell if you are stressed because I can see that you’ve been running your hand through your hair. I love how you touch me like I might break but kiss me like you can’t get enough. I love…I love you.” She looked surprised when the words came out, her hand flying up over her mouth and her eyes wide. 

“You okay, love?” he asked. 

Her hand stayed over her mouth and she nodded at him. Slowly she pulled her hand away and smiled. “I love you,” she said, a little more confident with the words.

“I love you too,” he said. 

She repeated it many times that night, each time a little easier than the last.


End file.
